


My Darling

by Nightlock



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: I feel like it's very weird, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of Death, depictions of corpse, greiving, mentions of possible suicide, slight canon misogyny, uhhh not sure what else but this is outlast, whatever is in here it's fucked up I'm sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:33:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4825784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightlock/pseuds/Nightlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Waylon has to cope and he doesn't know how. He needs help even if that help is from the own inner machinations of his mind or so he seems to believe. (Rated for language, graphic mentions of death and 'hot stuff')</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Darling

It was very cold but sweat trickled down Waylon's temple. He could see his breath as he quietly panted with his heart pacing rapidly in his chest. It thrummed violently as his mind frosted with dread. Even within the serenity he was surrounded by he could still hear it. It never stopped when he had time to _think_. It was the haunting sounds of saws spinning, a sickening, disturbing melody of rusty blades in crescendo with the accompaniment of impending death that loomed over him-around him- and crept up his spine. Along with the gritty, sharp noise of saw blades and metal colliding were the visions of that night that continuously replayed behind Waylon’s eyelids like a movie. She was dead. Body limb, blood pooling behind her head like a halo of crimson and light reflecting from her corpse like something angelic. Her skin had paled, deprived from life, and her eyes-those damned honey brown eyes-stared back at him unfocused and listless. Over them was a sickening veil that was a deathly, cloudy off-white. She always looked past him but not through him like she used to. She never spoke with her lips dancing with wisdom and love but instead those lips were stiff and dry. She…is so damn beautiful. The thought made Waylon’s legs nearly buckle as though he was physically unable to stand his twisted, demented mind. He didn't want to open his eyes because it was the only time he could see her. The only time she spoke to him was through those unblinking, lifeless eyes. Those beautiful eyes, they fucking sang like an aria.

Waylon wheezed, his own chest constricting to void him of air. Fuck, he didn't deserve it. He didn’t deserve to breath, that much was clear. He'd be better off dead. People he knew said so in so many words so vaguely. Their sympathetic stares and whispers behind his back. Those questions of his wellbeing and asking him how he was managing. Those insulting phone calls Waylon received out of some sort of sick obligation to seem like they care. They were in few number and spaced out considerably until he stopped getting them. Everyone wanted to know how he was managing his emotions, his mind, and his life. That was the problem, he wasn’t. He wasn’t managing at all because he was just existing. Without Lisa, without anyone he was simply hopeless. That's when the weight of the gun began to feel so real. So fucking real that it anchored him back into reality. He was by the lake again. He didn't remember leaving the house. When the hell did he leave the house? He had closed his eyes to try to take a nap and next thing Waylon knew was he was outside in nothing but his unzipped, weathered worker’s coat, an old pair of dingy, white sports sneakers and underneath the coat a white t-shirt and his boxers he remembered Lisa had gotten him for Christmas a couple of years back. His right hand was decorated with the pistol so nonchalantly like it was normal. Like it was the right thing to do. Waylon checked the chamber almost by instinct to see it was fucking full. He didn’t remember having bullets for this gun. Where the hell did he get these bullets? Why can’t he remember? It hadn’t been when he purchased the gun. No, it couldn’t have been. This was the gun he purchased out of fear of his and Lisa’s safety because of the neighborhood’s outbreak of break-ins a few years back. The gun he needed because he was a fucking coward and Lisa insisted they didn’t need it. The gun he lied about owning to avoid having an argument with his wife instead of facing up to his choices like he should. God, if this gun was the gun to take his life it would be symbolic to say the least. His final actions as a coward he supposed as he stared at the silver of the barrel. It glistened and was so tantalizingly beautiful like Lisa’s eyes. It really spoke to him at that moment. Waylon had noticed that the safety had been removed and his finger was so casually hanging on the trigger. Like a playful, teasing touch of a lover. This gun was his affair within the marriage and it seemed so right to be the solution to fix all of the problems he caused. Ironically, it was the dead coldness of the steel kissing his right temple that woke him from his walking nightmare. He would’ve done it. He would have shot himself if it wasn’t for the gun’s steel reflecting the winter night’s chilly air. He couldn’t even kill himself while being aware of it, huh? He really was a coward. He really did always run away. Lisa told him to go into problems straight forward and with confidence. He missed her scolding so much. Scolding meant she cared and if she cared, she loved. Waylon loved her so much, so fucking much. God, what the hell was he doing? 

Throat parched to the limit Waylon swallowed, with a little bit of a struggle from the dryness, then let out a deep, shaky sigh. It was like that breath was all he had within himself and then it was released like a banshee from a grave. Next thing the ex-programmer knew he was sobbing. Loud, hiccupping sobs. Waylon had broken the barrier he’d been wearing for the last couple of weeks. First Lisa and then only a couple of weeks ago he had lost his job. The job he’d been faithful to for years. He couldn’t hold onto anything it felt like. His happiness was just water that flowed into his hands and escaped through his fingers. Waylon’s mouth was still dry but his eyes were glassy with unfallen tears. His shoulders trembled as though he was being shaken from the inside and his bottom lip quivered as he hitched a couple of sharp breaths. He was a fucking mess. He bit his bottom lip just to try to stop everything from happening. Like it could prevent him from falling apart but once the foundation fell the entire building fell with it and Waylon sobbed again. _“Lisa, what would you think of me now?”_ Was a thought that whispered in his head and in a voice he had never known. It was his own, probably, but dark, disembodied. It was more alive than he himself so Waylon didn’t take it as his own. No, it was who he’d want to be instead of this shell of a cowardly man that couldn’t save anyone. He couldn’t save his wife, himself. 

Waylon dropped the gun and it landed with a loud thud. With the safety still off it was lucky it didn't fire. He swiped his hand over his moist face to wipe away the cold sweat and tears he was unaware that fell. He felt so pathetic. 

“Darling, don't cry. You know how you always get but I'm here with you now.” It was him, it was always him. He always came around every single time Waylon was like this. He knew because it always sounded the same when he had to cry, when he couldn’t avoid crying. Was he going crazy? “Lisa, I'm going crazy,” he whispered with his voice trembling and weak. 

“Oh Darling, such a sinner you are. You could end it all but you're here for me. Such a good girl you are. You're such a good girl for me.” His voice was so welcoming with a gritty charm. It felt so good to hear it. It quieted the background noise of the damned saws in his head, he just needed that quiet. Fuck, he just needed someone. Anyone. Even a figment of his imagination was welcomed. The midnight air causes Waylon to shiver, it had to be the cold night. It couldn’t possibly be the thrill of hearing this voice again and in more than a couple of barely audible words Waylon would assume he didn’t actually hear. It didn’t stop him from relishing in the anticipation of it though, this voice. This fucking voice again. As the days pressed on Waylon began to hear more of it he noticed. Now that he had lost his job the voice had become more prominent that ever. He needed the distractions because without them he _heard_ things. Such sweet things. Sweet, scary things. 

“I'm not a girl.” Waylon countered weakly. Of all the things to dispute his gender was hardly the issue but he focused on it. It was all he had. This wasn't the first time this has happened but it is he clearest and longest. Within the last few weeks Waylon had been hearing whispers but at the time it was hardly anything he acknowledged. But now, there were full sentences but Waylon wasn’t sure if that meant that he was gradually becoming crazier or not. He didn’t even care. He wanted to hear Lisa again, see her again, and anything that didn't make that happen was just an obstacle in his mind. It was why he became reclusive to the world and why he was always sitting around with his eyes closed. It was the only time he had with her and it was the only time he felt alive. But now, this voice has gained its own personality. Its own right and have evolved into this presence. It was creepy as hell. Every time Waylon heard it the voice became louder and more distinctive. It wasn't Lisa. No, she'd never be here to forgive him. She'd never come back to him and it made him ache with despair. When the hell did it start hurting so much? 

Bags were under Waylon’s eyes and they held a dark hue from lack of sleep. He shivered again and decided to zip up his coat. There was still snow on the grass and the moonlight reflected off it like a visual blessing. He needed a blessing. He didn't even believe in such things but even a nonbeliever needed a fucking break if such logic made sense. This pain was a testament as to why he didn’t believe but also as to why he wanted to. He was too tired to even care at this point. 

Waylon could feel broad hands ghost over the chest of his and he flinched. Hands? H-how? The process of this physical information barely processed. These wandering hands traveled from over the coat to under both the coat and his t-shirt and then eventually to his waist where this thing gripped him there. It was as though they were memorizing his body, measuring it. Waylon audibly gulped as his own hands began to shake. 

“You've gotten so slim, Darling.” This mysterious voice chuckled and Waylon could swear he felt a pointed nose nuzzle his neckline. Gotten so slim? How the hell, has this happened to him before? It wasn't possible, right? He was a fucking skitzo as far as he was concerned but he wasn't that crazy. He couldn't be that fucking crazy, right? Waylon backed away from the touch and stumbled to the cold, hard ground. It was so cold the grass had frost and the dirt was rock hard from being frozen. Waylon barely felt the fall because he was numb. He hoped to whatever deity that it was from the cold night and not from the utter detachment he was feeling, or rather not feeling, from reality. 

“Darling, don't hide from me. Let me take care of you, love you.” This voice was so forgiving and it was hard to resist. There should be hesitation and caution but Waylon didn’t have the energy or care to apply any. That thought alone erupted a barrage of thoughts and then Waylon began to breathe hard. No matter how much air he thought was going in it was never enough. More tears formed in his eyes and streamed down his face. He was panting as though breathing was new territory for him. He was so crazy, this wasn’t happening. Waylon closed his eyes and she wasn’t there. Lisa wasn’t fucking there and he bent forward and let out a yell from deep inside himself that to his own ears almost didn’t sound human. Waylon opened it his eyes again, vision shaking, at the sudden loud voice that sounded like it was in facing him. He lifted his head to where the sound of the voice may be coming from. 

“Are you okay?! Oh God, I hope you're okay. I hate to see you suffering like this. You’ve been suffering without me for so long…” General concern was an understatement to explain this mysterious voice’s tone. It sounded like it was dying at the thought of Waylon’s panicking, his freak out. It was nice as it was disturbing to hear someone-err something- care so much. It cared like it has known him for years. Nobody’s cared since Lisa. Nobody, not even Waylon himself. The gun was sitting in front of him. Forgotten and the safety still off it was like it was beckoning Waylon back with its ethereal gleam from the moonlight. He…he needed to be with Lisa. He needed somebody, fuck, anybody. His imagination wouldn't cut it, it would only make him worse he decided, but a slick cold bullet to the brain would be the answer. The pain would stop. The painkiller to his headache one could say. He's had a headache for so long. 

Waylon's thoughts thawed and vanished as his pistol floated midair. It was then lunged into the lake with a loud cracking of the lake’s frozen surface. It cracked through and the gun plummeted to the freezing cold bottom of the lake. Waylon hadn’t recognized his labored breathes until the sound reached his ears. He was truly horrified at what he was seeing. What he was experiencing. He had to be dreaming. Another nightmare. It had to be because while Lisa was gone, taken from him, this thing was here. It was keeping him from Lisa, he needed her. He only had nightmares and no Lisa was always a nightmare. Waylon pinched himself so hard on the hand that it looked like a bruise would blossom later on. 

“Did I frighten you? I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t mean to, Darling. It just seemed like the best course of action. To close for comfort.” The voice was so calm compared to Waylon that it almost made him less afraid and more upset. Could his mind even fabricate something so in control? 

“Darling, you can't die. No, not now, not ever. So long as I'm here. You can’t leave, no, I can’t be alone.” The voice paused for what felt like an eternity. Was it waiting for something? An answer perhaps? But there wasn’t a question. Waylon remained silent with the exception of his loud breathing. There was this sudden resurrection of dread deep in Waylon’s gut. 

“You…you want to leave me? You want to leave me don't you…?! You can’t be like the others!” The charm of this voice diminished into something sinister and accusing. That calm, controlled personality devolved into something as broken as Waylon felt. The coldness in the air could not compare to the chill that ran down Waylon’s spine. Maybe this was his own creation afterall. Stability was just a hoax. Waylon would've sworn there were two voices if they didn't sound alike. It was like a 360 degree turn. Just when he felt more than fear tonight it crept back into him like a burrowing creature into his heart. 

The silence again lingered with fear erupting from his gut. It was overwhelming, hot and just too much as through breathing wrong would result in some sort of fatal penalty. Waylon gripped the frosty grass blades beneath was his hands and resulted in dirt under his nails. His heart swelled with the accompanying feeling of relenting guilt at the accusation. Leave? Like he left Lisa. Fuck. While he remained alive she had died. He left her by remaining alive, by surviving. It hurt so much. She didn’t leave him, he was too much of a coward and left her all alone. Waylon closed his eyes shut tightly at the thought. He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to leave anyone anymore. It felt like it hurt him more than anything. 

“I-I’m…” he paused like he was thinking carefully, like he had to say this right to be okay, “I-I’m not leaving…” Waylon could barely believe his own words. They came out unsure and mousy. He didn't want to care but he did. Suddenly his pistol was fear embodied. He wanted to die for so long but as close as he'd gotten fear was always in the way. This trickling fear became something massive and he began to cry again. 

“Oh god, I'm so sorry, Darling.” Waylon knew it had to be hallucination because there was no way he saw footprints in the frosted grass. They lead to him in confident steps before he felt the large thumbs, he guessed anyway, of whatever this was under each of his eyes. It was wiping away his tears? Waylon felt a kiss to his forehead. 

“Oh Darling, I didn't mean to yell but you know how it is. Men get so crazy when around such a glowing lady like yourself. So pure but you’ll be alright.” It was so charming again like the flip of a coin. Waylon sobbed again before quieting himself. He didn’t know how to process any of this. He didn’t know if he could. He was in the fucking park on the middle of the night, half way to naked, crying and talking to himself. Next stop, rock bottom. 

“What…what the hell are you…?” Waylon was surprised he hadn’t asked earlier. It slid out of his mouth so easily but his voice sounded strained and cracked mid question. 

“I'm awfully sorry for my rudeness. A gentleman always introduces himself. Just call me Eddie, Darling. I heard you calling to me so I came as soon as I was able. You were so eager that I couldn’t resist you any longer. ” Wait-Waylon called? When? He just learned this thing’s name. I didn’t make sense and if Waylon thought over it longer he’d get a headache. Eddie chuckled between something so amused yet dark. Waylon trembled by the sound and gripped at the mound of grass under his hands even harder until he had detached grass blades in his fists. 

“Such a minx playing hard to get. You couldn't hear me calling back to you. You're getting better now though. Don't worry, Darling, I'm here to fix you.” Eddie coaxed and Waylon’s heart began to pace. Fix? He _was_ broken, wasn't he? Crying in his underwear outside, talking to himself, living off the image of his late wife’s corpse because he can't remember her any other way….he needed more than duct tape to fix his problems. God, if he could just remember what Lisa’s voice was like again. 

“I don’t need to be fixed.” Waylon argued stubbornly although his voice sounded so tired and quiet. He barely had any fight on him but he wasn't going to just except his audio hallici-err Eddie’s mission so freely. Whatever the hell that mission was. 

“Oh Darling, no need to be brave for me. Let me fix you up. You don't have to be alone anymore.” Eddie was encouraging cooperation and it was a good way to start. Being alone was so much to handle. Waylon’s been alone for so long-no- _too_ long. 

“Alone…” It came from Waylon's mouth as though the word had a mind of its own. It was as foreign to his lips as it was familiar. Lisa, are you alone too? Do you even miss me? How could you miss a coward? 

“I'm going to make you better, Darling.” Eddie cooed as what Waylon figured where hands-they felt like hands-began to scan over him again. So gently and loving as though it was worship. Waylon was afraid again but not from the phantom touches but from how much he liked it. How good it felt. He hadn’t been touched like this, with love as a motivator, in a long time. It was like an addict falling into their fix again. He hated it, that he needed more. 

It touched, it always touched. This voice, Eddie, seemed to always flick the shortest part of Waylon's hair or tap his shoulder or pull at the end of his shirt before the days that Eddie’s presence was known to him. Small gestures to easily right off but tonight it could touch and caress and massage. These imaginary touches began to warm Waylon’s numb skin. Phantom touches explored Waylon’s face, his hair, his arm and even his legs. They were so careful and considerate as though Waylon could actually break. Eddie chucked in his ear as he unzipped the old coat to expose what was hidden inside. Cold air immediately penetrated Waylon’s torso and he shivered. These careful hands dipped gently under Waylon’s t-shirt and massaged a pathway from Waylon’s upper waist to his chest. A faint tint of red ran across his face at the feeling of his nipples being played with. They were flicked and rubbed before both hands veiled over Waylon’ chest. Waylon could see the imprints of hands under his shirt and it stretched over what shouldn’t be there. He felt a stronger draft of the cold from his shirt being lifted. He felt insane but his thoughts melted away with the warmth of these mysterious hands. 

“You're breasts are so small, Darling. A woman can afford extra fat here and there. She needs it to bare children, after all. I know it's not easy for you but will have to work on that.” Eddie spoke as though he actually saw a woman. It was embarrassing and Waylon could only bite his lip to avoid fruitlessly arguing about such delusions and misinformation. Somehow, even if he did argue Waylon felt he'd hardly be in a position to complain. He had his own disillusions as he couldn’t let go of Lisa even when she was dead in his mind, literally. Waylon figured he was far from judging anyone on that. These thoughts faded into afterthoughts as these gentle touches were so comforting and warm. It was making Waylon hot and lightheaded and then he noticed the pooling heat gathering between his legs. Too embarrassing to even admit to himself he had gotten half hard quite easily. “Forgive me, Lisa…” was a stray thought that came and gone and Waylon felt his eyes getting watery again. He hadn’t gotten like this with any other before. It was only Lisa, it was always Lisa. She’s no longer here though and it happened again. When did Waylon’s world suddenly go topsy-turvy? When was his reality rewritten? He didn’t want to think about it and he didn’t. No, he couldn’t, not with this thing whispering sweet nothings in his ear and touching him so sweetly. He could die right now, Waylon thought. 

“E-Eddie wait, I don't think-“A weak moan escaped from his mouth and Waylon was mortified. It wasn’t his lack of dress outside his home, the fact that he appeared to be talking to himself or even that he was being touched by some unreal being but his response to that touch had Waylon feeling horribly abashed. He quickly covered his mouth with both hands, getting grass blades on his face, the tint of red now reaching his ears and shoulders. The renegade grass blades that stuck to Waylon’s skin went unnoticed entirely. This was hardly the issue at hand as Waylon was in public debauched like this. Although there was a zero to none chance of someone being out at the lake so late Waylon was nervous. His caution was well justified. _He_ was out at the lake this late and with little to no clothing at that. The weather didn’t deter him one bit nor did the time of night. Sure, he probably slept walked there but special cases like his didn't count, Waylon thought to convince himself to relax. Normal people wouldn’t be out in the middle of the night mid-winter at the lake. Waylon wasn’t even sure as to why, of all places, he ended up here. Why the lake? Maybe, subconsciously, he figured the privacy he needed was possible. Still, he felt he needed to be cautious. Eddie hushed any protests and spoke as he explored Waylon’s upper body with only his hands. 

“I know you’re just as eager as I am to consummate our love but this will have to do for now, Darling. I knew a good girl like you would feel embarrassed about such a thing but this is all natural. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.” Eddie reassured him as though he was promising the world. He spoke to Waylon as though he were a fresh, virgin girl awaiting her special night. It was so embarrassing for better lack of a word. Everything about it. How secure this voice, Eddie, was making him feel, this strange, out of nowhere devotion, the touching, the mannerisms, and the persistence of him being female. He needed that gun if only to end it all. He didn’t feel pain right now but Waylon was unsure if this was just as bad or not. The stretch of the waistband of his boxers woke Waylon from his thoughts. Those gentle, affectionate touches were now being applied to his hardening penis. It did not go without an extra two cents from Eddie, however, “So wet for me, Darling. I knew you’d be the one. So beautiful and eager just for me. Such a minx you are.” Waylon felt he couldn’t possibly get any more heated in the face. His heart was beating loud in his ears and Waylon’s palms began to feel moist. God, did everything this thing said have to make him feel like he was sinking in a pool of humiliation? 

Waylon leaned backwards, allowing the support of his elbows, and wiggled by the touch. He hadn’t remembered how long it’s been since he felt pleasure like this. He didn’t know he had the ability to still feel pleasure like this. Either way, it felt like it was an eternity now that it was a sensation coursing through his body from the origin of that one point of his arousal. It wasn’t an explicit or lustful act but it was the surveying from Eddie’s hand. Waylon really felt like he was being explored for a means of memorizing, mapping and measuring, like measuring tape tailors used, and it made the overwhelming feeling of Eddie’s touch that more enticing. There was a bemused sound of a breath from Eddie. 

“I know it’s been difficult for you but we’ll really have to do something about all these unsightly hairs down here, Darling. You’ll have to be good for me. I know you can be good for me. I know you can be so beautiful.” Waylon wasn’t sure he could even process what that meant. He hadn’t the attention to care though as he was so eagerly distracted by the gentle strokes and touches of these hands. The voice was no longer in his ear but in front of him it sounded like. Waylon wasn’t sure how he’d be able to handle all of this if he could see what this-who this-was but it was so unreal. The only grip of reality Waylon had right now was that building heat deep inside. He was so close that he bit his lip again to avoid moaning. 

“I told you not to hide from me, Darling. Even the sweetest bird sings. Let me hear you sing.” Skillful touch simultaneously massaged and fondled his cock and balls and Waylon couldn’t help but whimper. The cold air was but a memory as all Waylon processed was the feeling of security and warmth. He never really felt safe before. He hadn’t felt warm inside since Lisa. He was feeling it now though, and by his assumption it caused by some weird hallucination, and it was near maddening. He was so used to pain and this didn’t hurt. These ministration of affection didn’t bother him but were encouraged by the subtle rocking of Waylon’s hips and the curling of his toes. The shaky breaths he tried to hold back to remain silent and even the few grass blades still stuck to his flushing face were signs he didn’t mind. He felt he didn’t need to say it. This was supposed to repulse him. He wanted to be disgusted and hate being touched this way by any other than Lisa but it felt so good when everything else hurt. 

“I can’t-I mean I’m-“ It was getting to be too much. Not ever words held the weight to Waylon’s warning of what he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. He couldn’t speak coherently but the message was all too clear for Eddie. 

“Just feel it all, Darling, and do what you need to do.” With a few more gentle strokes orgasm his Waylon hard. It was so overwhelming it felt like his body was straining to release. Ropes of come released plentiful and hot and Waylon’s didn’t recognize the moan that released deep from inside him. It had gotten all over the front of his boxers and a squirt managed to fall upon the front of his t-shirt. He was lucky he hadn’t noticed his coat was removed or it too would be tainted with his release. It was so overpowering to his senses that fresh tears fell from the corner of Waylon’s eyes. He fell back weakly and was laying completely on his back. He was a panting, flushed, dirty mess, with any ounce of energy he had now gone. His clothes were now dirty and those grass blades, although a few fell off, a couple were still left on his right cheek. Waylon’s heated breathes danced as wisps of white in the air before his mouth and was the only indicator to him that he was till outside in the damned winter cold and ejaculating outdoors like some sort of exhibitionist. A few more timid strokes by Eddie helped Waylon ride out his orgasm but he whimpered at the overstimulation. It was just too much, everything was too much. Suddenly Waylon didn’t even have the energy to stay awake. He closed his eyes and before drifting off to sleep, against his better judgement, Waylon felt a chaste kiss to his partially parted lips. 

“You’re so beautiful, Darling.” Eddie spoke with the subtle feel of his words on Waylon’s lips. 

\----- 

Waylon woke with a start to realize after moments of anxiety he usually had once waking from his sleep that he was home again. His eyes frantically scouted his surroundings to see he was in his room and that he was okay. It was a very precise scanning of the room a few times to be sure it really was home and that everything was in place. That he really was awake. To be awake meant that he was actually able to sleep last night. It was a wonderful feeling Waylon realized. It was clearly morning, or at least the afternoon, as the winter sunlight filtered through the window blinds so vividly. Waylon pulled back his cover to check to see that all body parts were accounted for. He felt around his face and everything else to find that he was bullet hole free and injury free. Being so frantic Waylon hadn’t gathered that if he actually had shot any part of himself it wouldn’t take checking over himself to know it. He’d either feel it or be dead. 

Waylon sighed deeply in relief it felt like everything left him as he did so. A shaky hand rested on his forehead then he nervously chuckled to himself. 

“I-it was a dream…Lisa, it was a dream…” He reassured himself out loud. It had to be because he woke up and Waylon was not accustomed to ‘waking up’. He had a rather severe case of insomnia as of late and he usually just mimicked sleep by closing his eyes and being with Lisa for 8 hours. It wasn’t enough but in a weird way it also was. At least he thought so. 

Waylon closed his eyes to see she was no longer there, that she really had left him this time. Waylon trembled and his barely audible chuckle transformed into full blown laughter. It had lasted a good minute before he calmed himself. His vision suddenly blurred and then silent tears began dripping from his eyes as he stared down at his cover. His hands were still quivering at the memories-those damned memories-and he inhaled weakly. He began to play with his hands, rubbing the back of one over the other, a habit he developed in therapy when he had to speak about _things_. Waylon absentmindedly glanced at his hands and at that moment his mind and body came to a halt. He noticed the blossomed bruise on his left hand from the pinch he gave himself and the evidence of dry dirt under his fingernails from when he gripped at the grass. Waylon’s breathing quickened and it caught in his throat when he came to the conclusion that he wasn't wearing the same t-shirt or boxers from last night. He was now in a gray t-shirt and Lisa’s holiday gift boxers were replaced with light blue ones with a white paw print on each leg. Holy shit. 

It was then sound of running water, originating from Waylon’s master bathroom, which woke him from his thoughts. So, it was still here probably, this Eddie thing. As though to confirm Waylon’s suspicions he could hear Eddie humming from the bathroom. It sounded like some old song Waylon would never know the name of he figured. It was so fucking weird. This can’t be real. Is he dreaming inside a dream? Waylon felt his forehead to check for a fever. He had to be sick. 

“Darling, come for a bath. We have to groom you into a proper lady.” Eddie had called in a sing-song voice from the bathroom. If Waylon didn’t know it was a voice already he’d have sworn a person was in his damned bathroom. 

Waylon's throat began to parch then he sighed again. Maybe it didn't matter anymore. Maybe it was okay to be this fucking nuts. It was harder to be sane than anything else and it hurt more. So much more. When he's crazy he can feel again and it was more than pain. He really didn’t have to be alone. He didn’t have Lisa anymore and he needed someone. It was then he concluded that he was probably alive not by his own will but Eddie's and somehow that was okay with him. Even if that someone was probably from his bat-shit crazy mind. Probably. For once he could find a sense of something more than pain outside of his waking dream of Lisa. He just hoped it would last. God, he hoped it would last.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this little story was heavily inspired by music on my part. I was listening to old songs I enjoyed and this came up. The song in question may not be everyone's taste but it's My Darling by Eminem. Even if you don;t like rap if you listen I think a person can see how that song inspired this fic with a bit of a reverse on it.
> 
> I honestly can't imagine myself having the ability to write these two in something stable and normal so this story was created. I know some people can but I haven't figured it out to myself yet lol I find the idea of Waylon being unstable due to Lisa's death would basically be canon if that happened before Mount Massive...or after. Throughout the DLC we learn that Waylon strength comes from Lisa and the thought of returning to her and the kids. So, I wanted to play with that. We also learn that Waylon is a gentle guy who isn't 'built' to take on conflict and he calls himself a coward in the notes I believe. I find little details in characters like that fascinating so I hope this little story shows some of that. 
> 
> This is an AU where Murkoff if not a focal problem or whatever and Waylon and Lisa did not have kids and Eddie is something else entirely. She died prior to the story and Waylon blames himself for it which most of what Waylon is feeling is grief, shame and guilt.
> 
> I hope I kept Eddie in character enough? I didn't want to go full blown, over the top crazy like the game because there wasn't enough leeway with pacing to do that? I don't know, that and he's not under the influence under the engine so figured he can still have those issues socially but a tad more mild? Sorry if he's off. I will try to right him completely canon one day if an idea I have makes that possible.
> 
> Anyway, I hope someone enjoys this fucked up little fic x'D I apologize in advanced for typos and mistakes like I always seem to do since no matter what I'm sure I'll have some x'D


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